The Aroma of Cinnamon
by Pearlkat
Summary: Summary: I once read that cinnamon has a peculiar effect on Vulcans. This is my take on how it affected our favorite Vulcan at various times in his life. A 5 & 1 story: 5 times Spock indulged in cinnamon rolls, and 1 time he didn't. Rated T for a little suggestiveness.


The Aroma of Cinnamon

Summary: I once read that cinnamon has a peculiar effect on Vulcans. This is my take on how it affected our favorite Vulcan at various times in his life. A 5 & 1 story: 5 times Spock indulged in cinnamon rolls, and 1 time he didn't. Rated T for a little suggestiveness.

**A/N: I know I'm in the middle of something else, but this demanded to be written. Thanks to KCS for the 5 & 1 story motif, used here with her permission, though she said it wasn't hers to give.**

VI

Spock awoke to the most wonderful aroma he had ever smelled in his four short years. He had never smelled anything like it. Climbing out of bed, he inhaled the pleasant scent again then dressed quickly. He opened his door and started toward the stairs but remembered to go back and make his bed as he had been taught. Task finished, he once again headed for the stairs, this time at break-neck speed. Spock flew down the first set then composed himself on the landing, realizing his Father was probably waiting in the living room. Then he remembered that his Father was off-planet at a diplomatic conference, and hurried the rest of the way to the kitchen door, stopping himself and catching his breath before pushing it open.

"_Ha'tha ti'lu, Ko-mekh_," he greeted his mother.

"_Ha'tha ti'lu, Spock-kam_," she replied, removing a tray of something from the oven – the source of the wonderful aroma. "Since your Father is away, we will speak in Standard English, if you please."

"Yes, Mother." He thought carefully, then asked, "What have you made for breakfast? It smells dee…deelee…," his little brow furrowed in concentration, but the word wouldn't come.

"Delicious," Amanda supplied.

"Delicious!" Spock repeated, climbing up on a stool at the counter.

"I thought with your Father gone and school out for the day, we should have a special treat. Cinnamon rolls! Your grandmother used to make them for _me_ on special days." She set one of the golden brown rolls on a plate, spooned some icing on it, and placed it before her son.

Spock gazed at the pastry. It looked as delicious as it smelled. It was filled with a shiny, dark brown substance that glistened like tiny gems. And it was drizzled with a thin white glaze that dripped down the sides. He picked up his fork, cut off a piece and placed it in his mouth. "Mmmm," he couldn't help emitting. His eyes fairly danced as he finished that roll and another, washing them down with a glass of milk. Amanda was pleased that he liked them, but vowed to keep an eye him the rest of the day.

Spock did feel a little strange later that morning, but the sensation was forgotten as he savored the day spent in his Mother's company.

V

At fourteen, Spock was tall and lanky, as teenage males of most humanoid species tend to be. He stood as the school transport vehicle approached his stop. Three others rose with him and they all exited the bus. He fell into step with T'Ana, who lived across the street from him. They were followed by the only set of twins in their school, Silar and Silan, who lived a few houses up the street. T'Ana was a year older than Spock, and had walked home with him every day since her family had moved to ShiKar three years ago. Some mornings they walked to the bus stop together, if the timing was right. They rarely spoke, since they were both bonded and forming any kind of relationship was expressly forbidden.

As Spock walked he remembered that his Father was on the other side of the planet, visiting a city that had been devastated by a volcano. He would not be home until tomorrow evening. Deep inside himself Spock smiled, hoping that meant his Mother would make cinnamon rolls for breakfast in the morning.

Morning came, and with it the delicious aroma. Spock entered the kitchen, greeted his Mother, then asked, "Why do you make these only when Father is away?" He saw her face flush slightly before she answered.

"Your Father doesn't appreciate them the way you do, Spock." She knew her son was growing up, and this would be the last time she would make the pastries for him.

After breakfast, Spock picked up his school things, and left the house. T'Ana was just coming out her own front gate. Strange, he had never noticed before how beautiful she was: her long, straight, jet-black hair; the gentle slope of her nose; the soft sparkle of her greenish-brown eyes; the way her tunic hung on her breasts and hips. Spock halted those thoughts abruptly. Where had _that_ come from? He continued walking as T'Ana nodded and fell in beside him. Spock struggled to keep his breathing even and his eyes straight ahead. He felt a strange fluttering in his lower abdomen and ordered his brain to think about the computer exam he would be taking shortly.

IV

Cadet Spock allowed his shoulders to sag as the door to his quarters closed behind him. He shuffled to his bunk, dropped his satchel on the floor, and kicked it under the bed. He sat down, then fell on his back. It had been a bad day. First the Biochemistry exam had been more difficult than he had anticipated. Then someone had spilled tea on him at lunch. Then came the trauma of the flight simulator. The class had split up in pairs, each taking a turn as pilot and co-pilot. Cadet Tischner had been his partner. Spock recalled seeing her in class every day, but she apparently had not paid attention to instruction. He was immensely glad it had only been the simulator she piloted. If it had been an actual shuttle, they would both be dead now. It was all he could do to keep his stomach under control. And he'd had to use all his will-power to concentrate while he made a successful run at the controls himself.

So distraught was he that he didn't sit up when the door opened again and one of his bunkmates entered. "Man, that Biochem exam was killer!" complained Michael Perkins. Spock heard the sound of a padd being slammed on a table. "But look who I'm talking to. You probably aced it!"

"I did not 'ace' it. I found it to be most challenging," replied Spock. Then he did sit up, facing Michael, who was sprawled on a chair at their community work-table.

"Yeah, 'challenging' is a good word for it. Then, I had to sit through two hours of Professor 'Zombie.' That man makes watching grass grow sound exciting! Have you had him yet?"

Spock knew Michael was referring to Professor Zombodari, who taught Federation History. "No I have not, but I have heard other cadets speak of him."

"What'd you have after lunch?" Michael asked.

"Flight simulator," Spock answered, his voice muffled as he bent over to retrieve his bag from under the bed. "My stomach has not yet returned to normal."

"I thought you were a good pilot, Spock. What happened?"

"Do you know Cadet Tischner?"

"Long red hair, cute smile? I'd _like_ to know her!"

A dark eyebrow rose at the suggestive tone. "Do not ever go flying with her. You will not survive," Spock warned.

"That bad, huh? Well, it sounds like we both had a bad day. And you know what that means!" Michael got to his feet, smiling broadly. "Enzo's! Come on, Spock." Enzo's was the campus coffee shop where cadets went to unwind. Though Spock wasn't fond of the crowd or the noise, he did enjoy observing the other cadets who frequented the shop. He stood and followed Michael out the door.

As they entered the coffee shop, he smelled it. The unmistakable aroma of cinnamon rolls. He watched one of the workers take them out of the oven and drizzle icing over them. Michael pushed him toward the counter and ordered. "One caramel macchiato and one hiraulin tea for my friend." He glanced at Spock who was licking his lips as the cinnamon rolls were being placed in the display cabinet. "And two of those," he added pointing to the pastries.

That night Spock dreamed of Cadet Tischner. She was walking toward him wearing only a diaphanous robe of some sort that left little to the imagination. A gentle breeze caused her red hair, and the robe, to flow behind her. With each step he could see her bare legs. A pain began in his groin, waking him. He shifted his position and the pain intensified. He had experienced this kind of pain only once before – his Awakening. Spock was terrified. How could this be happening now? What was he to do?

He heard Michael's voice from the bunk above him. "What are you doin' down there, Spock? Quit shakin' the bed, will ya?"

Spock threw back the covers and bolted for the bathroom.

III

Lieutenant Spock stepped out of the shower, his skin still prickly from the sonic blast. He left the bathroom and stepped into his own private quarters, breathing a sigh of satisfaction. Finally, he had his own room again. Granted, he still had to share the bathroom with Lieutenant Montgomery Scott, but that was much better than sharing with three junior officers who frequently 'borrowed' his toiletries.

He had spent the better part of yesterday afternoon arranging his few belongings in this new environment. The reason for the relocation; today was his first day as alpha-shift science officer. He was now one of the regular bridge crew, and as such garnered his own quarters.

Spock dressed quickly and headed for the mess for breakfast. Just as he entered, the aroma of cinnamon wafted toward him. "Hey, Spock!" called Michael, his former Academy bunkmate. "Look what Patsy made me for my birthday. "Want one? I know much you like 'em!" Michael held up a plate of steaming cinnamon rolls.

Spock's mouth began to water. "Are you sure she will not object?" he asked.

"No, go ahead. There's plenty." Spock accepted one of sticky pastries and a proffered napkin. He continued to the food line and selected a bowl of fruit and some tea. Placing the roll on the tray he found a seat in the crowded hall.

Entering the bridge, Spock headed for the Science station. On the way he passed Lt. Vickers at Communications. He was struck by her golden hair. She turned to face him, her stunning blue eyes shining. "Good morning, Mr. Spock." Even her voice was lovely, like birdsong. Spock took his chair, but couldn't take his eyes off the lieutenant. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

He managed to log into his console and check the long-range scanners. But his gaze quickly shifted back to Lt. Vickers. Her short gold dress clung to her most alluringly, and showed a delightful pair of long, lovely, legs. Her hands seemed to caress her console, her long painted nails tapping as she worked. She glanced up at him and smiled. He was nearly undone by it. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to his own board.

Spock found it difficult to concentrate on his work. He kept averting his eyes toward Communications, hoping to catch a glimpse of her exquisite face again.

"Mr. Spock!" It was the Captain.

Spock looked up to find all eyes on him. He swallowed hard. "Sir?"

"Follow me please, Lieutenant," Captain Pike said, rising from his seat and heading toward the turbo-lift. Spock followed him to a small briefing room two decks down. Pike whirled on him and the Vulcan involuntarily took a step back. "Mr. Spock, I realize that today is your first day on alpha-shift and you are understandably nervous. And I realize that you are a young man and that Miss Vickers is an extremely beautiful woman. But you have to keep your focus on your duty. Understood, Lieutenant?"

Again, Spock swallowed hard. "Understood, Sir."

"Good. If this behavior continues I will have no choice but to send you back to the astro-lab. Now, I want you to collect yourself, do whatever you have to to regain your focus, and be back at your station in ten minutes." With that Pike whirled again and exited the room.

II

Christine Chapel entered the briefing room to find Kirk, Spock, Uhura, Ambassador Tamulk and two of his staff members pouring over the treaty they were working on for the warring factions on the planet the ship was orbiting. Commander Spock was struck by the aroma coming from the covered dish she was carrying. "I thought you could all use a snack," she said, placing the dish in the center of the table and raising the lid.

"Cinnamon rolls! Thanks, Christine, did you make these?" Captain Kirk quickly snatched one of the pastries.

"Yes, Sir. I did, but don't tell Doctor McCoy," the nurse replied, smiling. She left the room as the plate of rolls made its way around the table. Spock took one and bit into it, savoring the warm spice. It was nearly as delicious as the ones his mother used to make.

The treaty complete, Spock found himself walking into Sickbay. He couldn't remember why he had come here. He looked around and found Nurse Chapel treating an injured crewman, and pretended to study McCoy's collection of antique medical equipment while he waited for her to finish. He was vaguely aware of the crewman leaving the room when the nurse spoke to him.

"Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Spock?"

He turned to face her, hands held loosely behind his back. "I need to speak with you." She gasped as she saw the odd look on his face, his eyes casting furtively about the room. "Is there somewhere more private where we can talk?" She led him to one of the exam rooms, grabbing a med-scanner on the way.

Once inside, Spock pressed the button to close the door. Christine heard the lock click and experience a moment of panic. She quickly brought her nurse persona to the fore. "If you'd lie down on the bio-bed, we'll see what's wrong."

"No, Christine." He approached her, his dark eyes boring into her. Ordinarily, she liked it when he called her by her given name, but this time it sounded so strange. He continued to advance on her, hands now raised, and she instinctively backed up.

"Spock! What's wrong?" Then she saw it. The look in his eyes was pure lust. She took another step back, bumping into the chair near the corner of the room.

He put his hands on her cheeks and bent his head toward her. "I burn for thee, Christine," he murmured, his voice low and husky. She flipped the switch on the scanner in her hand and pointed it at him as his mouth descended on hers. She desperately wanted to melt into his embrace, but knew it would be inconsiderate. There was obviously something wrong with him. She put her hand on his chest and pushed him away. He tried again to kiss her, this time pressing her into the corner. She tried to turn away from him, but he gripped her chin and brought her face to face again. His other hand snaked around her back and pulled her toward him.

"Spock! What are you doing?" she managed to get out before his lips met hers once more. She squirmed and pushed him away again, harder this time.

He angled his head to one side, confusion evident on his face. "But Christine, this is what we both want."

"No, Spock. Not this way." Her eyes were filling with tears. "This isn't right." He advanced on her again and she knew she had no choice. "_Kroykah_!" she shouted, slapping his cheek at the same time.

Spock took a step back and stared at her, his eyes now registering a mix of confusion and horror. His face stung, but even more, the ancient command stung his psyche. He turned and fled the room, and Sickbay, as fast as his quavering legs could take him.

The following day, Commander Spock once again entered Sickbay. He sought out Christine, who was working at the computer. She looked up at him. "Mr. Spock," she greeted dubiously. She noticed the slight green tint to his left cheek – the one she had slapped.

Spock inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly before speaking. Miss Chapel…Christine, I wish to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I do not know what came over me, but it was reprehensible, to say the least."

"No, Spock. I'm the one who should apologize." His brow furrowed in confusion and his mouth opened to contradict her. She cut him off. "I did some research after you left yesterday; research I should have done _before_ I served you cinnamon rolls.

"I do not understand."

"Spock, do you know what effect cinnamon has on Vulcans?" He shook his head. "Cinnamon acts as an aphrodisiac to Vulcan males."

Spock took another deep breath and held it, remembering the other times he had consumed cinnamon. "That explains much," he muttered to himself.

That evening, Spock put in a sub-space call to Vulcan. Amanda answered. "Spock! What a pleasant surprise!"

"Greetings, Mother." They chatted for a few moments before Spock told her the reason for his call. "Mother, are you aware of the effects of cinnamon on Vulcan males?"

Amanda blushed before answering. "Yes, Spock, I am. Why do you think I stopped baking my cinnamon rolls after your Awakening?" She saw the shock in her son's eyes.

"I remember you told me that Father did not care for them. Did you also make them for him?"

Again, her face turned pink, and she pressed her lips together. "I did. And I said 'he didn't appreciate them.' He told me never to make them again."

I

He stepped out of the shuttle into the fog-filter sunlight of San Francisco. It had changed very little in the forty-three point seven years he'd been away. "Ambassador Spock!" someone called. He turned to find a young lieutenant behind him. The man had a Federation Diplomatic Corps badge on his left shoulder. "Sir, your ground transport is this way. If you'll follow me, Sir." Spock followed him to a waiting ground car. "Where to, Sir?" asked the lieutenant, settling into the driver's seat.

The first stop was Star Fleet Memory Garden. His driver waited in the car while Spock strolled through the greenery and fragrant flowers. All around him were stone plinths with brass plaques. He paused briefly at one marked Christopher Pike. He had learned to be an officer from this man. Another few minutes' walk brought him to his destination. He ran his hand over the raised letters. James T. Kirk. He had learned even more from this man. He had learned who he was and what his purpose was in life. He let the memories of his friend wash over him and a single tear slipped unnoticed down his cheek.

The second stop was the bullet train station. There he boarded a train for Atlanta. A few hours later, he switched to one headed for the coastal city of Savannah, then hired a taxi to take him to a beautiful old plantation house. Leonard McCoy greeted him from the front porch. "Howdy, Spock! It's been a while!"

Spock climbed the steps and shook the proffered hand. "It has indeed, Doctor. You are looking well."

"For a man of my age, you mean!" retorted McCoy. Spock's eyebrow rose and the Doctor laughed. "You don't look half bad yourself!"

The two old friends talked late into the night, reminiscing about past adventures and discussing plans for the future. They also made plans to visit Riverside, Iowa. Peter Kirk had taken over the family farm there and set up a memorial to his parents and his Uncle Jim.

Spock entered the kitchen the next morning, only to be greeted by the aroma of warm cinnamon rolls. Dr. McCoy's granddaughter greeted him as she poured two cups of coffee. "Papa's in his study. I'll go get him," she said.

A few moments later, McCoy shuffled in, his cane thudding on the tile floor. "Mornin' Spock. Did'ya sleep well?" he asked, his drawl accentuated by age. His gaze fell on the plate of pastries on the table. "Oh, cinnamon rolls. I thought we were havin' scrambled eggs and biscuits." This was directed at his granddaughter who had followed him into the room.

"We are, Papa. The biscuits are ready and it'll just take me a minute to cook the eggs. I thought cinnamon rolls would be a nice treat."

McCoy sat and selected one of the rolls, then offered them to his guest. "No, thank you, Leonard."

"Oh, go on Spock, there's not that much sugar in them."

"It is not the sugar content that concerns me, Doctor."

"No? Oh, well, more for me." He bit into his second pastry with gusto. After a sip of coffee, he said, "Guess who I just got a call from!" Spock's eyebrow rose, indicating he had no idea. "Star Fleet!" continued McCoy. "They want me to attend the launch of _Enterprise D_. Can you believe it?"

...


End file.
